Riverventure Expedition Part 1 (Richard Bernabe)

One year ago, I began a month-long, 270-mile solo expedition across the state of South Carolina in an open canoe. In addition to photographing the trip, I was carrying a video camera for SCETV, the Public Broadcasting Network of South Carolina. My “video blogs” were shown in elementary school classrooms across the state. Here is my account of that trip written in three sections, the first of which will appear here today, with parts 2 and 3 coming over the next two days.

It was shortly before 6 a.m. and the night’s last glimmering stars reluctantly yielded to the luminous eastern sky of early dawn. The September air was thick and humid, causing a sweat to break out on my brow even at this hour. With camp broken down and the canoe loaded, I pushed off the sandbar and my craft slid quietly into the waters of the Broad River. Two hundred and fifty-five files of adventure and uncertainty were downriver awaiting my passage.

The wide Broad River on a foggy morning

Less than 24 hours earlier, I had been home where last-minute preparations for this month-long journey had been made. It is also where the plan to paddle across South Carolina in an open canoe, alone, was hatched nine months earlier.

The route I ultimately chose would carry me 270 miles through the state’s rivers, lakes, swamps and canals, as well as negotiating around eight dams. It would begin on the Broad River at the foothills of the North Carolina Mountains and finish up at Battery Park in the Charleston Harbor.

The most often-asked question of me in the weeks and months preceding the departure date was, “Why?” I was embarrassed not to have an insightful response at the ready. I stumbled for the right words that could adequately express my need to do this. Then just three days before the journey began, I finished reading “River of Doubt,” a book recounting the story of Theodore Roosevelt’s ill-fated river journey in the Amazon that nearly cost him his life. When asked why he went, Roosevelt responded, “It was my last chance to be a boy again.” I wish I had thought of that.

The summer of 2007 experienced record-low rainfall and widespread drought across the entire Southeast. By September, most rivers and streams were running at historically low flows, including the Broad River. The Broad rises in the North Carolina high country and follows a southeasterly route, entering South Carolina just north of the town of Gaffney. Rushing more than 100 miles through the South Carolina Piedmont , it ends in downtown Columbia where it joins the Saluda to form the headwaters of the Congaree River.

The beginning of another day of paddling on the Broad River.

Just moments after my September 6 departure from the N.C. 150 Bridge, it was apparent that the Broad’s low water was going to make the trip much more difficult than expected. Lengthy stretches of shoals needed to be waded as I dragged the heavy canoe over sharp rocks and the exposed riverbed. A trail of red Kevlar from my red canoe marked much of my route over the upper Broad. I began to wonder if I would have any keel left on my boat by the time I reached Columbia.

My first reprieve from the shallow water came at Gaston Shoals Lake, a dammed section of the river about six miles north of Gaffney. Gaston Shoals also introduced me to the art of portaging an 80-pound canoe, as well as 100 pounds of food, water, supplies, and photography equipment around a hydroelectric dam.

Portaging is a term used for carrying the canoe and supplies over areas of dry land. Each dam that I encountered required a portage of anywhere between one hundred feet to one-half mile, and each consisted of several trips back and forth as I carried gear. Without help, it was grueling work.

Taking a break during another long portage around a hydroelectric dam.

During the second portage at Cherokee Falls, another dam eight miles downriver of Gaston Shoals, I had to lower the canoe by rope, back to the water from a 25-foot rock ledge. While scrambling down the rocks with a 60-pound bag of camping supplies tied to my back, I sliced open my left foot on a sharp edge of rock. Wading the shallow shoals and completing the portages would continue to wreak havoc on my feet throughout the first half of the trip.

On day four, I met my family in the small town of Lockhart for a cherished picnic lunch. Lockhart Power Company operates a hydroelectric plant on the Broad River and channels the water through a canal that flows through the town’s center. The power company also provides a portage via pick-up truck around the mile-long canal that is not open for boats. With a lunch of fresh fruit and sandwiches and the free ride, it was one of the better days.

After Lockhart, the Broad became more remote and took on the feeling of really being in the wild. The river entered the Sumter National Forest and wildlife became my constant companions for both days and nights. Scores of bald eagles, ospreys, and blue herons were spotted with ease after each bend in the river. Barred owls and coyotes hooted and howled throughout the nights in a perpetual nocturnal symphony. Deer swam right next to my canoe, wild turkeys shared a river drink at evening camp dinner, and I befriended an injured Canada goose named Millie, who shared a ride downriver to Columbia.

Injured Millie hitches a ride to Columbia for a date with wildlife rehabilitators.

Although the days were hard work and the nights were often long and lonely, I was always in high spirits. I was exactly where I wanted to be and doing precisely what I wanted to do. The city of Columbia would represent the halfway point in the trip and offer a short break to rest up and re-supply.

Don’t miss tomorrow’s Part 2: Disaster Averted?

~ by mountaintrailphoto on September 7, 2008.